


Lucky

by soft_princess



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-19 00:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22469191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soft_princess/pseuds/soft_princess
Summary: Luck is definitely not with Peter tonight; he comes off pretty badly in a fight, and then Mr. Stark shows up, probably to lecture him about damaging the suit.Or maybe his luck's about to turn.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 17
Kudos: 237





	Lucky

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [Lucky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26122012) by [sinSODA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinSODA/pseuds/sinSODA)



The knock on the door startled Peter from where he was slumped on the couch. He sat up quickly and winced as the pain in his chest made it hard to breathe. He’d spent the evening fighting a trio of bank robbers with _laser guns_ , and some kind of full body _forcefield_ , and he was sore, exhausted, and cranky.

One of the robbers had even managed to singe his suit, and thinking of that made Peter think of the look Mr. Stark was going to give him when Peter showed him the damage. 

To top it off, Peter had only managed to catch two of the three robbers. He had no idea where the third one had disappeared to, and neither did Karen. He’d had Karen send a report to Friday as usual, and had come home to find Aunt May had left him a note--she was staying over at her new boyfriend’s place for the weekend, and would see him on Sunday. 

And she’d eaten the last of the leftover pizza. 

Peter groaned as he stood and hobbled over to the door, remembering to at least take off his mask before he peeked through the peephole. 

He frowned, then unlocked and opened the door quickly, standing aside to let Mr. Stark inside. “What--Mr. Stark. I sent the report. Why…?” he stopped when Mr. Stark held up a hand and walked in. Peter closed the door behind him and leaned against it.

“I know, kid, that’s why I’m here,” Mr. Stark said. “Karen mentioned some damage to the suit--”

“It’s just a little bit singed, Mr. Stark, I’ll mend it, you won’t notice--” Peter started, trying to think of ways to make it less awful than it was. He couldn’t stand disappointing Mr. Stark at all, and tonight had been nothing less than disappointing.

“Hey, hey,” Mr. Stark interrupted him, holding out his hands and using his ‘I’m trying to be soothing, and I’m not really sure how’ voice. “I’m not worried about the suit. I came to check up on you.”

“I--I’m fine,” Peter replied, his voice a lot shakier than he’d have liked. He knew he was in for a lecture or three, eventually, maybe even right now. Peter had known perfectly well that calling for backup was the right thing to do, or waiting until the authorities arrived, or pulling back as soon as he noticed he was seriously out-gunned. He hadn’t done any of those things, and now his arm ached, and he was pretty sure he was bruised all over, which didn’t happen all that often anymore--he guessed, though, that having parts of a building fall on you, well, it left marks, even when you were Spider-Man.

“Sit down, Peter,” Mr. Stark said, gently holding out his hand into Peter’s field of vision. When Peter looked up, he was shaking his head and looking almost--

Fond.

Peter felt heat rise on his cheeks, but he didn’t argue. He let Mr. Stark help him further into the living room, relishing the touch on his arm, the hand against his back, gently keeping him upright. He sat gingerly on the edge of the couch and tried not to wince at the renewed pain spreading into his chest. He was fine as long as he didn’t try to bend. Or twist. 

Or breathe.

He did wince, however, when Mr. Stark sat on the coffee table in front of him and pulled on Peter’s arm, holding it up to the light. The singe, apparently, was worse than he thought: not just a singe, but a full blown burn that ran along from below his elbow up to his shoulder. 

“Gotta make you fireproof,” Mr. Stark muttered under his breath, low enough that Peter was pretty sure he wasn’t really talking to Peter at all, so Peter stayed quiet. “It’s a good thing I’ve already got a new suit for you in the final stages; this one’s toast. Literally. Can you take it off? I need to look at the wound, make sure it’s healing properly. I don’t like the idea of taking you to the hospital, but we might have to call a doctor I have on retainer if there’s infection or if it’s not healing properly. She’s okay, she won’t ask a lot of questions about your healing ability, and you can keep your mask on.”

It took a minute for Peter to work through Mr. Stark’s words--he’d lost focus at “new suit for you in final stages,” and between that and being touched gently, carefully, like something precious, by Mr. Stark, Peter had zoned out, nearly forgetting how much pain he was in for a brief, glorious moment. He bit his lip to keep from groaning as he carefully pulled his arm out of his suit. “It’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt that much anymore. And I think most of the bruising is going down, too.”

Mr. Stark stopped his careful examination of Peter’s wound and raised an eyebrow at him. “Bruising?” 

Oh right, he’d had Karen take that bit out of the report before he’d sent it. Crap. “They lasered through a beam in the bank and part of it and the wall fell on me. I’m fine though, I swear,” Peter said quickly, with a shrug, trying to make it sound a lot less scary than it had been. 

Mr. Stark sighed and let go of Peter’s arm, reaching out to gently tug on Peter’s suit, exposing a bruise on Peter’s upper chest. “Shit,” he muttered. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you bruised.” He sighed, swallowed audibly, and then shook his head. “You should have called for backup. You may be superhuman, but you’re not indestructible, Pete.”

Peter hung his head and nodded. He’d known the lecture was coming, and he knew the score, but disappointing Tony Stark was never fun. Peter shivered when Mr. Stark’s hand moved to push the suit out of the way and examine the bruising along Peter’s side.

A look down at himself made Peter wince again; it looked worse than he’d thought.

Mr. Stark sighed audibly again, but let go of Peter’s suit and went back to checking over Peter’s arm. “The burn’s healing fine. Probably won’t leave a mark, lucky boy.”

Peter didn’t feel all that lucky, at least not right now. 

“The bruising’s more worrying. It should already be gone. Bruises don’t last ten minutes on you, kid. It’s been at least an hour already.”

The worried look in his eyes made Peter gulp. God, Mr. Stark was close, still touching him, his thumb drawing circles on Peter’s wrist. Peter would just have to lean forward a little bit and they would be kissing. 

And Peter really, _really_ , wanted to kiss Mr. Stark.

He thought, maybe, his crush wasn’t exactly one-sided. Mr. Stark had recently developed a habit of putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder when they were in the lab and looking over projects together. More than once, Peter had been sure Mr. Stark was seconds away from cupping his cheek or saying something, but had thought better of it and moved away. And that wasn’t even mentioning all the _looks_ thrown Peter’s way he probably wasn’t supposed to know about. 

Right now, though, Mr. Stark was pulling away, one hand already back on his lap, and the other fishing into the inner pocket of his blazer to take out his phone. “Ask Karen to send a detailed analysis of your injuries plus vital signs to Friday will you? I’ll look it over right now.”

Peter put his mask back on and relayed the request to Karen, trying not to be disappointed that Mr. Stark wouldn’t be examining him personally, here, now, asking Peter to pull down his suit to his hips so he could catalogue the bruising on Peter’s body himself. Peter had to bite his lips to stop himself from whimpering out loud at the thought.

Definitely much safer to have the AIs relay information instead. 

Peter’s initial hero worship when they’d first met had slowly morphed into a hopeless crush over the years, thanks to so many hours spent together both in the lab and on the streets. He’d learned so much from Mr. Stark, and _about_ Mr. Stark. It hadn’t been long before Peter had realized the man wasn’t perfect, not even a little. He had flaws and quirks, and Peter had grown even fonder of him despite--or maybe because of--all of them.

Mr. Stark’s voice startled Peter; he’d been lost in thought and had nearly fallen asleep. He’d also leaned back into the couch. 

“What?” He tried to sit back up, but gave up when the pain proved to be too much; he couldn’t even bend his body without wanting to scream.

“Massive internal bleeding, Peter, that’s what.” Mr. Stark put a hand on Peter’s shoulder and helped him lie down on his back. “I need to monitor you, kid. It’s healing quickly enough that I don’t think we need to panic, but not at your usual rate. Friday is worried you haven’t eaten in a while--is that true? Did you eat when you came home?”

Peter shook his head. “May ate the last of the pizza, and there’s nothing else quick to eat.”

“At least I can fix that,” Mr. Stark said, pulling his phone up to his ear. He spoke to Happy quickly, putting in a quick order for two extra-large meat lovers pizzas from the place around the corner, their biggest pack of wings, and a two-liter of orange soda. 

He’d remembered Peter’s favourite soda. Peter blinked and tried not to let that little tidbit of information feed into his crush. Mr. Stark seemed to remember a lot of things about him, and it wasn’t like Peter never drank soda in the lab or anything. 

Still, it felt a little bit like something.

Mr. Stark hung up and looked back at Peter. “You should probably take off the suit and put something else on. I can’t imagine you’re all that comfortable right now.”

Peter shook his head, trying to think of a reason to refuse. He tried to get up anyway, but Mr. Stark’s hand stopped him.

“No, kid. I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re not bleeding internally anymore, anyway, so I’ll grab you something from your room. A pair of sweats okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied, “They should be in the third drawer down, with my t-shirts.”

Peter watched Mr. Stark walk around the couch to head to the hallway--

\--then woke up when Mr. Stark shook his shoulder. “Hey, no sleeping yet. We’ve gotta get some food in you first. This okay?” he asked, holding out Peter’s favourite worn sweats and a faded Avengers t-shirt he’d had since forever. 

Peter nodded and reached for the clothes, but couldn’t muster up the energy to sit up, much less head to the bathroom to change. Even opening his eyes was a pain. “Wait… shouldn’t I keep the suit on? You said you need to keep monitoring… Karen’s good at that.”

“Good point, but I had Friday add a couple of functionalities to my phone, and as soon as they’re done downloading, I won’t need Karen. And you need to be able to rest.” 

Mr. Stark slid an arm under Peter’s shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position. “Can you lift your arm up a little?” Mr. Stark asked quietly, pulling on the right arm of the suit. “I don’t think you’ll manage on your own at this point, kid. Better to let me help. We can get this done a lot faster. Though I can’t promise no pain.”

Wordlessly--and gingerly, even if his right side hadn’t been hit quite as hard as his left--Peter lifted his arm and let Mr. Stark pull the suit off it. “Lean forward a bit,” Mr. Stark said, pushing the fabric down to Peter’s waist. 

If he wasn’t so tired, this would be straight out of one of Peter’s fantasies. As it was, he could barely manage to blush. He could feel his body running out of energy with every uneven breath; his eyes were drooping, and he felt like, in spite of his discomfort, he could fall asleep again in no time. 

“Mr. Stark?” he managed to mutter. “I don’t feel so good.”

“I know, kid, but you’ll feel better soon, I promise. Comfortable clothes, food, something to drink--” Mr. Stark trailed off, his eyes on Peter’s torso, his mouth stretched into a thin line. “Jesus,” he murmured, shock evident on his face. “I really hope food does the trick, Peter. This doesn’t look good.”

“Data--” Peter started, interrupting himself with a grimace of pain when Mr. Stark pushed him to lie back down. “Data says I’ll feel better when I get more calories in me.”

“I know,” Mr. Stark said, gently, easing Peter’s suit the rest of the way down his legs and off. “We’ve done extensive testing, I know how your healing abilities usually work, but this is extreme. I’m not sure how… No, we’ll get some food into you, and if you’re not better in half an hour, I’m calling that doctor I mentioned.”

Peter gave a short, painful nod, and had a moment of worry when he remembered he wasn’t even wearing an undershirt today, so his boxer briefs were now the only thing he was wearing. He’d had dreams--indecent, inappropriate, so hot--about being naked with Tony Stark, but somehow, they never started this way. Besides, Peter was too tired, worn out, and hurt to even think about any of that. 

And it wasn’t like he had any energy--and maybe even blood--left to make things awkward either.

Mr. Stark continued. “If your body couldn’t produce blood at a much faster rate, I’m pretty sure I’d be talking to your aunt about funeral arrangements right now.”

Peter nodded grimly. “Yeah, I know.” He wanted to apologize for tonight, promise never to do it again, but he knew he wasn’t likely to keep that promise. Instead he sighed, but didn’t say a word.

Mr. Stark’s expression was shuttered as he pulled Peter’s sweats over his legs and up to his hips, which Peter lifted dutifully. “At least, the data Karen sent to Friday says all your broken bones are mostly healed.”

“There weren’t that many broken bones, though,” Peter said. Mr. Stark held out his hand to him, and helped him sit up.

And sitting up didn’t suck as much as it had a few minutes earlier, so that was an improvement. No dizziness either. Peter said as much to Mr. Stark and was rewarded with a smile. Tight, and clearly still worried, but a smile nonetheless.

“Karen noted five broken ribs and eleven minor breaks in your left arm and leg. Not to mention a sprain on your right ankle and third degree burns on sixty percent of your left arm.”

Peter shrugged. “It could have been a lot worse. No major breaks.”

Mr. Stark sighed audibly and muttered: “Think you’re invincible. You and Steve--idiots, both of you.” Then he held up Peter’s shirt and helped him put it on, carefully, one arm at a time. “A lot worse would have been unacceptable, Peter. Hell, _this_ is unacceptable. You’re not actually immortal, you know.”

Peter nodded and tried not to wince again as he leaned back and put his head against the couch. “Yeah, Mr. Stark, I know. I didn’t actually set out to get crushed by a wall.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you didn’t, but…” He stopped himself and let out a breath again, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You actually did a good job out there, kid. It’s a minor miracle you managed to wrangle the two robbers you did catch after this.”

Peter was pretty sure he wasn’t imagining the pride in Mr. Stark’s voice, but he wasn’t all that certain he deserved it. “I didn’t catch all of them.”

“So because you missed one, you think you didn’t do a good job?” Mr. Stark rolled his eyes, smiling. “Kid, you had a building fall on you, you have massive internal bleeding and third degree burns, and you still managed to take down two burglars with both full-body force shields and laser guns? Colour me impressed, okay?” His tone turned almost gentle as he added, “You did a great job, Peter. Don’t worry about the last guy. We’ll find him.”

Mr. Stark’s warm tone made Peter look up and smile. “Thank you,” he said softly. He knew he’d be blushing if it wasn’t for the fact that the blood in his body was busy with other things at the moment. Mr. Stark’s hand squeezed his knee, and it lingered a bit too long--a soft touch that had Peter longing for more.

But Mr. Stark’s phone dinged, and he took his hand away to fish it out of his pocket. “Happy will be here in a couple of minutes with the food. Get comfortable, okay?”

Peter nodded and shifted until he was as close to comfortable as he was going to get, his legs up on the coffee table and a couple of cushions under him. Aunt May wasn’t here, so she couldn’t scold him for putting his feet up. Besides, it was a better plan than putting his feet on the couch, since it left room for Mr. Stark to sit next to him. If he wanted. If he didn’t decide to sit on the armchair on the other side of the couch from the one Peter was sitting in.

At least, the clothes he was wearing were significantly better than keeping his suit on would have been. He didn’t feel as constrained, and it hurt less to breathe. 

Mr. Stark came back into the living room less than five minutes later, arms laden with takeout boxes and the bottle of soda in his hand. “All right, kid, dig in.”

Peter hadn’t realized just how hungry he’d been until he started to eat. Within ten minutes, the wings were gone, and three quarters of a pizza too. Mr. Stark was shaking his head and smiling at him from his spot next to him on the couch--he’d chosen to sit next to Peter rather than the armchair, which had made Peter happy. 

“Thank you for the food, Mr. Stark,” Peter said around a mouthful of pizza. “I feel much better already.”

“You sound better too, and you got some colour back.”

Peter had no idea what to say to that, but he smiled at Mr. Stark and bit his lip. He grabbed another slice of pizza and decided against stuffing it all in his mouth in favour of eating it like a regular human being. Ned might find it hilarious, but Peter had a feeling Mr. Stark would mostly look disgusted, or just not amused at all, and that was far from Peter’s goal. 

Things felt different between them this evening, like something had shifted. Mr. Stark had come to Peter without prompting and was staying even after he’d assured himself Peter wasn’t actually dying. They were watching some crappy 80’s movie with some actors Peter was sure he’d seen in other crappy 80’s movies. He couldn’t remember their names, but that wasn’t important.

Mr. Stark was sitting on the other end of the couch, just three feet away, and Peter was hyper-aware of him there, almost close enough to touch. If he shifted, reached a hand out, he could touch Mr. Stark’s knee, maybe lay his head down on his lap--that would feel nice, wouldn’t it? Maybe Mr. Stark would lay his hand on Peter’s head, thread fingers through Peter’s hair. 

Or maybe he’d stand up and walk away. Tell Peter he’d read things wrong, that there wasn’t anything between them that could warrant that kind of intimacy. 

Peter could be wrong about this--he didn’t want to be, he wanted to be right, to know that Mr. Stark wanted the same things he did, the touches and kisses, and maybe more, even. A relationship that wasn’t mentor and mentee, superhero and superhero-in-training, teacher and student.

He should say something. He wasn’t going to-- “Mr. Stark--”

“Peter--”

They both laughed, looking at each other. “Sorry, you start,” Peter said shifting slightly towards Mr. Stark.

Mr. Stark shook his head, but didn’t stop smiling and didn’t look away. “I’d like to take a look at your bruises again, make sure everything is healing properly.”

Peter stifled a sigh and nodded. It didn’t take long to pull up his shirt. When he looked down at himself, his bruises had started to turn green and yellow around the edges, rather than being a deep purple throughout. “Looks better.”

“Yes, looks good.” Mr. Stark had shifted closer too, close enough to touch Peter’s skin as he examined the bruising. “I wish I could heal as fast as you do, to be honest. Hell of a power to have in our line of work.”

“Sure, if I could bottle it up, I’d give you some first,” Peter said. When he looked up, Mr. Stark was right there, a few inches away. “Um,” Peter muttered. “I mean…” 

He could lean forward, just a little bit and their lips would be touching. He wanted that--wanted Mr. Stark’s fingers to dance on his skin, their touch as light as they were now, but a different kind of inquisitive. “Mr. Stark...” He bit his lip to stop himself from voicing the thought out loud, but he still looked into Mr. Stark’s eyes.

“Peter--” Mr. Stark started, taking a breath. He wasn’t pulling away though, and Peter counted that as a win. He seemed to be trying to decide something, his eyes shifting between Peter’s eyes and his lips.

“Please,” Peter breathed. He wasn’t sure if Mr. Stark knew what he was asking for, but he hoped--he had so much hope. “I want to kiss you, please,” he finally said, when Mr. Stark had spent what must have been nearly a minute just looking at him. 

“Peter--”

Peter couldn’t take another second of this. He lifted up a little, just enough, and pushed his lips against Mr. Stark’s. For a second, Mr. Stark did nothing. He stayed still, probably shocked and startled, but Peter pressed on harder, a hand behind Mr. Stark’s neck, pulling him closer. “Please,” he whispered against Mr. Stark’s lips.

Suddenly, Peter found himself pulled onto Mr. Stark’s warm lap, arms wrapped around his hips, Mr. Stark’s mouth still pressed against his. He opened his lips to Mr. Stark’s tongue and moaned when it slipped inside. 

Tony obviously knew what he was doing, his mouth moving with purpose against Peter’s, who gladly let him take over and followed his lead. With Peter’s breathing still laboured, they had to pull apart too soon, but Peter leaned his forehead against Tony’s when they did. He panted softly, a grin on his lips.

“Peter,” Tony started, sighing. “This is a bad idea.”

“Why?” he asked. If it was what he wanted, and what Tony wanted, why would it be a bad idea? And before Tony could start arguing with him about their age difference and what anyone else would think, Peter kissed him again. “I know what you’re going to say, but I’ve wanted you to do that for a while now, and I don’t want to argue right now. I just want to bask.”

Tony chuckled, kissing Peter’s nose. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a lot longer than I should probably admit to, you know.”

And Peter smiled at him, wrapping both arms around Tony’s neck with just a small wince when the healing skin of his arm rubbed along Tony’s shoulder. “Then you should do it a lot.”

“You think so, huh?” Tony smiled. 

“Yeah, definitely.”

Tony cupped the back of Peter’s neck, and pulled him down, pressing their lips together again and coaxing Peter’s mouth open gently. Peter moaned softly, responding to Tony’s kiss with a soft press of his lips.

It was even better than he’d ever imagined, being in Tony’s arms like this, touching, caressing--the best first kiss a guy could have ever asked for. Okay, third kiss now, but this was the first time Peter had ever made out with a guy--with anyone, and who cared exactly how many kisses they’d had by now, Peter certainly didn’t. He just wanted more.

And Tony delivered, keeping their lips moving, coaxing Peter deeper into his own mouth, taking over the kiss, teaching Peter in this as he had with everything else over the last few years. Peter listened and learned, following Tony’s silent instructions exactly, adding his own twist--fingers in Tony’s hair, a bite of Tony’s lower lip--when it felt right, rewarded when Tony gasped and kissed him harder.

Peter had no idea how long they stayed there, entwined around each other and kissing, but the movie was over and another was well underway before Peter’s stomach reminded him that he still needed more calories to fuel his healing. This time, he didn’t retreat to the other side of the couch, and stayed close to Tony instead, Tony’s arm thrown over his shoulder as Peter ate what was left of the pizza, and finished the soda too. 

When he was done, he leaned against Tony’s side, and gave a small, happy sigh. This may not have been the best evening for Spider-Man, but it was definitely up there as far as Peter Parker was concerned.

They didn’t say anything through the movie, but when the credits rolled, Tony kissed Peter’s head, and sighed into his hair, the warm gust of his breath tickling Peter’s scalp. “I’m going to head home.”

Peter sat up with a small frown. “I was hoping you would stay. I--”

Tony put a finger against Peter’s lips. “I know. I want to stay too, but not tonight. I think we both need some time to let this sink in, so I’m going to go home.”

Peter nodded. He didn’t disagree with what Tony was saying, not really; he was just worried Tony would decide this wasn’t what he wanted between now and the next time they saw each other. Peter wasn’t sure he could stand it. He nodded again, before he stretched his arms over his head, gently, cataloguing every leftover ache in his body. “My lungs are better, I can breathe more deeply. My ribs don’t hurt.”

Tony stood up and studied him intently. “You look better. Not about to pass out or die. It’s an improvement.” He held up his phone and then hummed. “The bleeding’s stopped completely, and most of your injuries are gone. Your arm’s going to take a few more hours, but it should be good as new in the morning. It’s going to itch like crazy overnight though.”

Peter looked around and found his aunt’s unscented skin lotion, holding it up for Tony’s approval. “That should help when the burn’s gone and I’ve just got the new skin to worry about, right?”

“I don’t see how it could hurt,” Tony said, shoving the pizza boxes in the recycling bin by the door. Then he stood in front of Peter and pulled him close. “I have to go to the compound until Tuesday, but I’ll swing by tomorrow before I leave to check up on you. Get some rest, Pete.” He punctuated the last word with a swift kiss on Peter’s lips, then gave him a smile. “And don’t worry too much, okay? We’ll figure this out.”

Peter blushed and shook his head. “I’ll try. Good night.” He let Tony out and then leaned against the closed door, before erupting into a giddy whoop that left him breathless. Okay, excitement was going to have to wait until his lungs were functioning at full capacity again. In the meantime, he desperately needed a shower, and possibly more food.

And he needed to text Ned and Aunt May that he was home safe and sound--Ned would get the full debrief tomorrow, and Aunt May didn’t need to know how hurt he’d been. Then he’d sleep.

Tomorrow, Tony would come by, and maybe, if Peter was really lucky, he’d get to kiss him again.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Unacceptable Risk](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23496697) by [Mireille](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille)




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